


Boss Fight

by cyrene



Series: How to Lose Friends and Alienate People [11]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: And it's moving forward, F/M, OMG THERE IS A PLOT, there is still a gun on the mantle, will the pining ever cease?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyrene/pseuds/cyrene
Summary: Zuko is dealing with a lot of shit, to be honest. Some of it's normal, like girl shit. Some of it's psychotic mobster family shit. When does it end, for fuck's sake?
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki
Series: How to Lose Friends and Alienate People [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/265927
Comments: 43
Kudos: 255





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were curious, this is me moving the plot forward. 
> 
> P.S.: Your comments and kudos literally wrote this themselves, that's how much life they give me.

Zuko is dealing with a lot of shit, to be honest.

Some of it is normal eighteen-year-old shit. Like, the fact that the girl he is absolutely gone on, and constantly making a fool of himself around, might actually reciprocate his feelings. The fact that he needs to decide, once and for all, if he’s going to college, or if he’s going to risk disappointing Uncle Iroh and just stay in the diner.

Shit like that is pretty heavy all on its own, but Zuko is also dealing with some pretty abnormal shit. Like the fact that his cover is blown, and his psychotic sister knows where he is now. Which is bad enough, but that means his vastly more psychotic father probably knows too.

He tries talking to Hakoda Atwater about it. Nobody is happy with that conversation. Hakoda is not happy about his kids finding out what he really does for a living, and Katara is _certainly_ not happy to find out that her father is not actually a boat parts salesman. There is a lot of shouting for a bit, there, before Zuko (very calmly, considering the circumstances) asks them all to get the fuck over themselves while all their lives are in danger.

Unfortunately, the crux of the matter is that there is nothing Hakoda can do for him, other than put him in witness protection. He offers to try to get Ozai on child abuse and endangerment charges, but Zuko knows that will probably just piss Ozai off more than anything. There won’t be any real jail time. And Zuko knows a bit about the business, but not enough to guarantee a conviction or anything. It’s useless.

Zuko feels trapped.

What the hell is he supposed to do? He feels strongly that he should protect his friends, and the only thing he can think to do is run away, to take the target off their backs by simply not being there anymore.

But Zuko is a fucking worthless coward who can’t do that, not even to guarantee their safety. He loves the life he’s built here. The thought of not sitting around the Atwater dining room table every Saturday, rolling dice and saving the world, makes him feel hollow. After all, he has to train Aang in firebending to defeat the Fatherlord. And he can’t disappear on Uncle Iroh like that. Not after the way his real son died. It would devastate him if he couldn’t ply Zuko with tea and wheedle emotions out of him on a daily basis.

Really, all he can do is carry his gun at all times and wait for something to go wrong.

They tell the party what’s going on. Of course they do. Zuko is one of them (he can almost accept that without a panic attack now) and, as Sokka is always keen to remind them, you should never split the party.

It’s not like Zuko expects them to do anything. They’re all still teenagers, after all. But it’s nice feeling supported, like this particular group of people is there for him, to keep him afloat until he can swim again.

“What if we just killed him?” Zuko asks one day. “What if we just took care of it ourselves, and let the whole organization fall apart when he’s dead?” It takes a lot for him to ask that. He wonders if he could even do it.

But Aang won’t hear of it, of course, and that’s the end of that.

They spend a lot of their time at the diner now, because Uncle has been gone a lot lately. He says it’s business stuff, but Zuko thinks he’s really going visit his old guy friends and is a little confused about why Uncle wouldn’t just say that. Secret old guy business, he supposes.

Aang has been pretty mopey lately, sighing and looking off in the distance and fiddling with that gold key he wears around his neck, and nobody will explain it to Zuko. When he asks, they get all awkward and just say, “Oh... you know.” Or “It’s Aang.” Or some variant of that kind of meaningless phrase. Zuko doesn’t get that either, but he decides to make an extra effort to be nice to the kid, even going so far as to let him sit on top of the booth instead of in it. Aang is the Avatar, after all, and an air bender. It’s only natural that he would have trouble keeping his feet on the ground.

So Zuko takes him for a ride on the bike one day, to give him a chance to let it out. Zuko isn’t really comfortable with being the touchy-feely emotional support kind of guy, but everyone else already seems to know what’s wrong with Aang and either cannot or will not do something, so it’s down to him.

“I kinda always thought that I was going to end up with Katara,” Aang says finally, looking off into the distance like he’s been doing lately. “I thought one day she would finally look up and see me, and she’d be my forever girl.”

Oh.

Uh oh.

Zuko realizes, much too late to abort mission, that he is singularly unqualified to be the one having this conversation.

“Girls are... well... girls are weird like that, man. Magical, but weird.”

“She likes you,” Aang says glumly, and Zuko’s heart skips a beat while he tries to keep a straight face.

“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t ask for this. Especially the part where you get hurt.”

Aang sighs. “I know. I’m not mad. I’m just... sad.”

This is really more Katara’s area than his, but for pretty obvious reasons she shouldn’t be subjected to this conversation any more than he should.

“I know this sounds trite, but it will pass, Aang. It will lessen over time, I swear it will.”

“I know,” Aang sighs, fiddling with the key. “But thanks for saying it. It’s nice to hear.”

“So, what’s that key about?” Zuko asks, desperate to change the subject to literally anything else.

Aang does perk up a little. “This?” he asks. “Oh, it’s to a safety deposit box. My Gruncle Gyatsu, who took care of me until I was twelve, left it to me in his will.”

“That’s cool. What’s in it?”

Aang beams, happy again. “Wanna come see?”

The lady at the bank does not look particularly pleased to see Zuko, probably because he looks like trouble, but she’s sweet as pie to Aang, who she obviously recognizes. She leads them back to a little room, where they wait for her to bring the box out to them.

Aang proudly shows Zuko his coin collection, full of rare and valuable coins and foreign money, a series of his childhood photos, and other little treasures. The box is big, and seemingly endless, full of stuff, only some of which has actual monetary value.

Then they get to the bottom, and Zuko sees an otherwise innocuous manila envelope. It’s thick, and the writing on the front is spidery but legible.

“Aang,” he asks slowly, “why do you have a file labeled ‘Ozai Sozin Evidence’ in your little treasure chest?”

Aang frowns. “I dunno. I’ve never looked at it. What do you think it is?”

“Well, I’m gonna take a guess here...” Zuko says more than a little sarcastically as he reaches one hand in to lift the file out.

It’s full of pictures and handwritten text that’s too messy for him to read right now, but he catches a phrase here or there that paints a picture.

“I think,” he says slowly, “we should show this to Hakoda Atwater.”

They show it to the party first, of course, all gathered at the Atwater house for an emergency meeting. They’re going over the evidence when Hakoda finally comes home.

“Katara,” he says, a little weary, “this better be important. I’m supposed to be in a meeting.” He frowns, and says, “It’s not game day, is it?” His frown deepens as he reads over the contents of the manila envelope. “This... _might_ be enough,” he says, his voice tinged with hope.

They’re all discussing what’s going to happen when there’s a knock at the door. Hakoda and Zuko both stand, hands on their guns. Hakoda puts a finger to his mouth and goes to answer. Zuko follows, because he’s the only other person here with a weapon.

“Uncle?!” he exclaims when the door opens, revealing none other than Uncle Iroh and no less than six old guys behind him. Zuko recognizes some of them: Piandao, Pakku, Bumi... others he doesn’t know.

“Ah, nephew! And Agent Atwater! Just the person I was hoping to see.”

Hakoda lets them all inside, and the old guys, one by one, start laying out their cases and their evidence against Ozai Sozin.

Hakoda’s eyes go wide as he takes it all in. “This,” he says, “this is more than enough. We can finally move forward.”

Hakoda goes back to the office that night. He has a lot of planning to do, because they’re going to move on this tomorrow morning. Uncle leaves for the diner with his old guy friends. The party is all that’s left, sitting around the table looking at each other in awe.

“I can’t believe we just took down the fucking mob,” Suki says, very quietly.

“We are, like, _total_ badasses,” Toph crows, throwing her hands up in the air.

“There’s only one thing left to do,” Zuko realizes.

“Celebrate?” Sokka asks hopefully.

Zuko shakes his head. “My sister. We need to get her out of there, or at least give her the chance.”

There’s an argument over this, of course, starting with whether it should happen at all and finally progressing through the planning process to who should be allowed to go. Aang can’t, he has to talk to the federal agents tomorrow. Toph is blind and, as much as it kills her, won’t be much help. Sokka and Suki both offer to come along, but Sokka is supposed to drive Aang tomorrow.

“I’ll go,” Katara says with the kind of finality in her voice that brooks no argument. “You and me, Zuko. We’ll do what needs to be done.”

He understands, when she says that, when she levels a look at him, that she knows he’s worried about what Azula might do if she’s... less than receptive, and Katara is willing to do whatever it takes to get them in and out of there alive. He nods, slowly.

“Okay, Katara. Okay. Let’s do this, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a bright, sunshiny day, which Katara feels is wrong somehow. Like, perhaps the overthrow of the Sozin mob should be accompanied by some clouds, maybe some thunder and lightning? Something to set the mood a little.

They take her car, but Zuko drives, because he’s the one who knows where they’re going. He drives fast, but controlled, his hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. They don’t speak. Katara just keeps queueing up songs, hoping to distract him for even a moment.

He takes his right hand off the steering wheel and lays it down on the center console, palm up. Katara places her hand in his – a reassurance for what is to come, and a promise to talk about this thing between them at a later time. His hand is warm and dry and rough, and hers feels small in comparison.

The house, when they arrive is... well, large is a serious under-dramatization. It’s a freaking mansion, all white and antebellum. They pass by once, to make sure Ozai has already left for work, and make the block before coming back around to park in the circle driveway. Katara gives Zuko’s hand a squeeze. He leaves the car running, readying his handgun as they walk up to the front door.

It’s open. Do the fabulously wealthy not lock their front doors? It makes the whole endeavor feel like a trap. Katara wonders what they’re supposed to do – sneak around until they find her, like they’re in-game vigilantes again?

“AZULA!” Zuko shouts.

Well, that was subtle. How had Zuko stayed under cover as Lee for so long, again?

Azula comes from upstairs, walking down with an intrinsic grace and poise that Katara could never master if she tried all her life, flipping one lock of hair over her shoulder with her left hand.

In her right, she holds a gun.

“Zuzu!” She sounds genuinely excited to see him. Her eyes have a manic sort of gleam that frightens Katara enough for her to take a step back, behind Zuko. “How nice of you to stop by. Father’s not here right now.”

“I know,” Zuko replies, his voice rough. “The Feds are arresting him as we speak.”

Azula’s eyes narrow. The grip of her right hand tightens. “You little traitor,” she spits. “You bastard.”

“Azza,” Zuko says softly, and Katara can’t imagine a world where this tough, impenetrable girl has a diminutive. “Come with me. You can stay with me and Uncle. We’ll get through this, together.”

Azula laughs, a loud, cackling more suited to an insane old witch than a girl Katara’s age. “Have you actually lost your mind, Zuzu? Has all that time away from home turned your brain soft? You want me to go slumming it, like you and Uncle? _Me_?! I’m modern day royalty! I would never betray our father.”

She raises the gun in her right hand and fires.

She misses. Zuko ducks out of the way anyway, though her aim was far too wide, shoving Katara to one side as he raises his own gun.

“Don’t do this, Azula,” he warns, his voice hard now, but pleading nonetheless. “You’re still my sister.”

Azula aims her gun. They’re facing each other now, at a standstill, with guns leveled. Azula’s eyes flicker to Katara. She smiles that crazy, manic smile.

“I always win, Zuzu,” she says, whipping her gun to the side, to where Katara stands.

Katara closes her eyes, prepared for impact. When she falls to the ground, hitting her head on the marble floor, it’s with strong arms around her. She can smell blood.

Zuko rolls to one side with a groan of pain, clutching his shoulder. Katara watches the blood flow from him, staining the white marble floor. She looks up, to where Azula stands, wide-eyed with shock and, for the first time, fear.

Katara grabs Zuko’s gun and runs.

Before she can think, she is in front of Azula, and she whips her hand around, hitting her in the side of the head with the gun. Azula falls with a cry, her eyes closing instantly. She’s not dead, Katara is sure of that, but blood leaks from a cut in her temple, where Katara pistol-whipped her.

She runs back to Zuko, who is trying to rise.

“Don’t get up,” she insists breathlessly. She fumbles with her cell phone, dialing 9-1-1 with one hand. With the other, she presses down on the wound to stop the flow of blood, which makes him cry out in pain.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after a moment, his voice faint and tired.

Katara laughs, hysterical. “I should be thanking you,” she points out. After all, the gun had been aimed at _her_.

She can hear the sirens already, thank goodness, because whether it’s from blood loss or trauma she doesn’t know, but Zuko passes out.


End file.
